


Lie under different stars (I’ve not seen you in the flesh for so long)

by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Childhood Friends, Derek Leaves Beacon Hills, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 21:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16167359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchmoxie/pseuds/dearericbittle
Summary: In which Laura Hale is a queen of holding on to childhood mementos and seeing things her brother won't, and Derek Hale rediscovers his love of Mischief.





	Lie under different stars (I’ve not seen you in the flesh for so long)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Found the phone number of an old childhood friend in some box at the back of your closet and decided to call it to see if it still worked AU
> 
> The response to my first fic for this fandom has been overwhelming in the best way, so what better way to thank all of you than to write more fic?   
> (Sidenote: if you have a prompt you want me to fill, just hit me up and I'll see what I can do!)

He wasn’t sure how even half of this stuff had survived. 

There was just so much of it, so much embarrassment for Laura to dive right into and so many pictures of childhood bunny teeth and weird ears that he never quite grew into. 

_ Sourwolf, what big teeth you have.  _

So many images of the people who hadn’t made it out into the dark night with him and Laura, of the people they’d mourned. There were so many images of the things he’d left behind in Beacon Hills, the things he’d ruined when he ran away without looking back. 

But Laura had kept all of it, had somehow managed to drag a whole box of childhood memories along with her for almost a decade. They’d run from the burning building when he was sixteen, and his twenty-fifth birthday was rapidly approaching. 

_ Mine’s up first. Twenty-one, finally! Are you gonna buy me my first legal drink? You promised!  _

“That one is my favorite,” Laura smelled happy as she pointed it out. 

She wasn’t even in the picture - no one was, no one except Derek and Mischief. He knew that wasn’t his real name, knew his childhood best (and only) friend would probably still go by Stiles, but Derek had never stopped thinking of him as Mischief. 

_ You’re just jealous because your name isn’t special like mine or Derek’s!  _

Mischief’s arm was looped around Derek’s bare waist, because he was only about twelve in the picture and he hadn’t actually hit that desperately yearned for growth spurt yet. His hair was buzzed short like it had been since his mother died, and his shoulders were slightly burned from the summer sun. His weird amber eyes shone with unadulterated glee. 

Derek just looked uncomfortable in his swim trunks, like Mischief was the only reason he was playing nice for the camera. Which wasn’t that far off. 

_ When you’re an old grandpa wolf and I’m still young and beautiful, we’re going to need proof that we were teenage idiots once. Well, you’re going to need proof - I’m sure everyone will believe I was an idiot.  _

“They’re still in Beacon Hills, you know,” Laura didn’t take her eyes off the picture for even a second. “Stiles and the Sheriff.” 

But what about college? What about getting out? Stiles - Mischief - was supposed to go places, conquer the world and learn all the facts about everything. 

That last bit might have been a direct quote. 

_ I’m coming back for your dork self. Or we’ll go to the same college. You can be the wise senior showing my lame freshman ass where all the good parties are. Not that you would know, you nerd.  _

“They’re safe?”

Somehow what was meant to be a statement sounded decidedly like a question. 

“You could find out for yourself, you know,” Laura dug into the box of mementos with relish, digging out a crumpled scrap of paper. 

Even after almost fifteen years had passed, he still recognized Claudia Stilinski’s handwriting, the way her L’s had slanted oddly and the writing was always ever so slightly smudged. The curse of being left-handed, she’d called it, as she ruffled Derek’s hair and taught him bits and pieces of Polish that he was never to repeat in polite company. 

So of course he repeated it to Mischief in about five seconds. He was sure Claudia knew of every whispered  _ Spierdalaj _ , but she never stopped them. 

_ My mom is the best. _

Derek’s trembling fingers - he was a werewolf, why the hell was he terrified of a phone call to a number that probably wasn’t even in service anymore - reached for his cellphone. 

“Tell your boy hello from me,” Laura did love a good exit line. 

His? His boy? Laura always knew just how to get to him. She always had, always would. 

_ Dude, your sister is awesome. And you’re looking more like Little Red Riding Hood than the Big Bad Wolf. I love it.  _

While gently tracing the first S in Stilinski with his thumb, Derek waited for the automated message that would tell him that the number he had dialed was - wait! 

Someone actually picked up! 

He couldn’t speak, but apparently neither could the person on the other end. His breaths were shallow, and Derek tried to focus on the surroundings he could vaguely hear at the edge of his superhuman senses. There was just one heartbeat in reach, slightly faster than the average human’s, and familiar enough to tug at decade-old memories. 

“Hello?”

_ Did you miss me? _

It couldn’t be, because this voice was deeper than the thirteen year old boy he’d left behind with nothing but a note filled with pathetic apologies that didn’t fix anything. Mischief hadn’t sounded this strong - he’d been it, though, stronger than most humans, able to carry the world on his fragile shoulders. 

“Mischief?” he choked out. 

“Derek?” the almost familiar voice cracked with excitement. “Fuck, is that actually you?” 

One word and he’d been made, cracked open by the only person who still had that power - always would. 

_ Making you smile is my superpower, you know that.  _

Why would he worry about that when Mischief recognized his voice still? Any second now Laura was going to remark on how pleased he smelled - even from two rooms away, his sister was a complete menace. 

“Mischief,” he sighed happily, before catching himself. “Stiles. You probably just go by Stiles now.” 

It had been almost ten years, there was no way that Beacon Hills was still the same as he’d left it, no way that Mischief was still the same person he’d left behind. Derek wasn’t the same either - he’d grown more even more serious, even more lonely, and not even Laura could crack the walls he’d built around his heart. 

_ She tried though. Oh God, did she try.  _

So there was no reason to think that the boy he’d abandoned hadn’t turned into a stranger, different name and all. Still, he hoped. Like an idiot. 

“Not for you, dude,” his friend protested emphatically. “I mean, you can totally call me Stiles if you wanna, but I kinda like that you still remember my stupid childhood nickname.” 

“It’s not stupid, Mieczyslaw,” he teased. 

And he still remembered the proper pronunciation after all this time - well, he had spent a lot of time trying to master his best friend’s full name. Just because Mischief told him no one could, of course. 

_ You are the worst, Derek Ebenezer Hale. Shut up, I know that’s not your actual middle name but you are such a Scrooge.  _

“You are the worst,” Mischief complained, even though he sounded pleased. “The worst! Do you know how much bribing I had to do to make people forget that name? Now I wish I had a glare half as powerful as yours, Eyebrows McGee.” 

How had he forgotten about the dozens of ridiculous nicknames he’d been subjected to over the years? The jokes about his angry glare, meant to make him smile or just to distract him from something he was brooding about. 

No one else would have gotten away with half the things Mischief had called him. 

“You’re glaring at your phone right now, aren’t you?” 

How did he?

_ Please, Sourwolf, I know you. Give me some credit.  _

“I’m not,” he huffed. 

“Lie.” 

Derek was the one who was supposed to be able to call out all the lies people were caught in, and he did, but Mischief was the person he’d ever known who didn’t need werewolf senses to know when Derek was just trying to save face. 

“I missed you.”

Mischief’s heart pounded a little faster.

* * *

 

Laura had laughed at him when he booked the flight, mocked him because he’d told her about a million times that he was never going back to Beacon Hills. 

Two weeks of talking to Mischief, to Stiles, on the phone and everything had changed. 

Because here he was, pretending to struggle with the weight of his suitcases as he walked out of baggage claim with his heart pounding. There were so many people out here, all pushing past each other in their haste to get the hell out of this place - he couldn’t pick out a single scent because there were simply too many to choose from, and there was no way he could pick a single heartbeat from this constant buzz of noise. 

How was he supposed to find Mi-Stiles like this? 

_ If it’s not with your big ears, and you can’t smell with your big nose, maybe use those big eyes. I’d rather you not use those big teeth.  _

Would he even recognize his friend after all of this time? When he left, when they ran, Mischief hadn’t even had his thirteenth birthday yet, and now he was days away from turning twenty-one (and had made Derek promise to get him his first legal drink). There was no way he hadn’t grown up in over eight years. 

Derek closed his eyes for a few seconds, trying to hone in on M-Stiles’ scent and the sound of his heartbeat. He just about figured out what direction to move in when he saw the sign. 

It was ridiculous, completely ridiculous - which he should have expected. 

The gigantic cardboard sign just spelled Sourwolf, in that familiar handwriting that really hadn’t gotten any more legible in the missing years. But Stiles had decorated it with little, quite terrible, drawings of wolves. 

Well, Derek thought they were supposed to be wolves. 

Of course the sheer ridiculousness of the sign had distracted him from the man holding it - man, because this was no twelve year old boy. 

What the fuck?

That could not be Mischief - Stiles. That gorgeous young man simply could not be Mieczyslaw Stilinski - except that he was because Derek would recognize those eyes anywhere, and he’d drawn the pattern of those moles on many a silly drawing, trying to make up constellations that would make Mischief feel better. That damn Whittemore kid kept teasing him about the spots on his face. 

“Stiles?” he questioned. “Mischief?”

Now, the grin that followed, when Stiles finally noticed him in return, that was what sold him on the man’s identity. That grin was all mischief and all Mischief, just like the boy he remembered from when they played stupid pranks on the deputies. Or, more accurately, when Mischief played pranks and Derek let himself be used as a distraction because he was an idiot back then. 

_ Yeah, back then.  _

The sign hit the ground within seconds. 

“Fucking hell, Derek,” Stiles was delighted, wrapping himself around Derek without a second thought. “Why did I not expect you to get even more ridiculously good looking? You were supposed to leave some dregs of residual hotness for us mere mortals!”

He was tall now, maybe about an inch shorter than Derek, and lanky with the same gangly limbs he used to make his point back when he was an awkward teenager. His hair was longer, messy like he’d just gotten up and rushed to the airport without bothering to fix his hair - sex hair, Laura would call it. 

And wasn’t that a kicker. Mischief-Stiles was an adult, so maybe he wasn’t going to hell for looking at him like he was. 

When he could look, because right now all he could do was feel. He was being cuddled, his best friend wrapped so tightly around him that he would have had trouble breathing if he’d been human - and he didn’t mind. Mischief was warm and solid and still smelled ridiculously good.

Suddenly there was a bit of distance between them again, and long fingers easily tickled his sides. 

He should have known. 

“Mischief,” he groaned, old exasperation coming back quite easily. 

“Sourwolf,” the old response is still the same as well, and so is the pleased grin on Mischief’s impish face. “You really did miss me. Now come on, I’m not made of money and the parking here is a pain in my shapely ass.”

Derek did not sneak a peek at said shapely ass, because he was not a creep and he had boundaries, shut up Laura. 

_ Right. Boundaries - Creeperwolf.  _

“Aren’t you going to bring your sign?” Derek stared at it, half on top of the trash can. 

“It served its purpose,” Stiles shrugged. “You found me.”

And with those words, he just bounded in the direction of the exit, trusting Derek to follow just like he always had. He didn’t offer help with the bags, knowing that Derek wouldn’t have any trouble with the backbreaking suitcases. Stiles would just hurt himself with them, somehow - his clumsiness was legendary. 

At least, it used to be. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek huffed, unsure what else to say. 

The parking lot was crowded, but he recognized the car immediately. How could he not? It was the car that picked him up after baseball practice when his mom was too busy working, the car that drove them to the stupid water park every summer because Stiles begged. The ridiculous Jeep that was somehow still running, the one that Noah Stilinski had saved for his son because he knew what it meant. 

“Don’t act so surprised about it,” Stiles jumped into Claudia’s Jeep. 

Derek ran his fingers over the metal, hoping against all odds that a hint of Claudia’s warm scent remained. It didn’t. 

_ It’s been too long, doofus. You know that. I miss her too.  _

The car just smelled of Stiles now, and it was almost as comforting. It was good to be surrounded by his best friend’s scent, but it was not nearly as calming as being surrounded by his second mother’s scent would have been. All he could think of was another way in which he could be surrounded by Stiles’ scent, or by Stiles himself. 

He wanted. God, he wanted. 

“I wasn’t sure about how you wanted to do this,” Stiles deftly maneuvered the car out of the parking lot, rambling all the way. “My dad would love to see you again, but if that’s too awkward, we can figure something out. I’m staying at home for the time being ‘cause I’m doing this internship, but I’m sure you can avoid my dad if you’re not comfortable.” 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see the Sheriff again, it was that he was worried the Sheriff would either just see that lost sixteen-year-old he’d been after the fire, or that he would see just how interested Derek was in being with Stiles. He knew full well how obvious he was about it - Laura had been very clear. 

“Scott wants to meet you,” Stiles continued. “He’s jealous, I think. He hasn’t really had to share me before. Because I’m a total loser. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten about that - you were always my only friend.” 

Stiles smelled heartbroken, and Derek just piled even more guilt onto his shoulders - because he’d ruined this too. He wasn’t around for Stiles, he’d left his only friend behind with just a hug and a phone number that had gone out of service about a month later. He’d left a lonely twelve-year-old just because he couldn’t deal with the reminders that he once had a family who loved him until he ruined everything. 

He failed his best friend. 

“And you were mine,” Derek couldn’t look at him right now. “Still are.” 

That seemed to stun Stiles into silence, a feat that was almost impossible for anyone but Derek. At least, that was what Noah Stilinski used to say. 

“I missed you.” 

For a second, Derek didn’t believe that those words had really come from him. For a second, he thought it was just another thing that only Stiles dared to talk about. 

But those were his words - and even though Stiles was human, he would still be able to tell that Derek wasn’t lying. 

“Asshole,” Stiles sighed, his face hinting at a grin. “You, Mister Badass Werewolf, are an asshole. I missed you too.” 

Had the insults sounded like pet names before? 

They pulled up in front of the Stilinski house - it hadn’t changed much, if at all. The Sheriff’s car wasn’t in the driveway, so perhaps they had some time before Derek had to face the music - meaning all of Beacon Hills. 

“Dad’s still on shift for a few more hours,” Stiles remarked as he turned off the engine. “We can do whatever for a bit. I can cook something - those airlines just don’t have wolf-sized portions. Or we could hike to the Preserve, not that I’m a great hiker now. I haven’t changed that much.” 

Maybe one day thinking of his family’s territory would feel good again, but right now it was just painful. He’d have to face it at some point during this trip, but not yet. Just, not yet. 

_ It’s okay if it hurts, Der. Of course it hurts.  _

“I should text Laura,” he avoided thinking about the future. “She probably wants proof you’ve left me in one piece.” 

Maybe after the picture he could face the next few days, could face these feelings for Stiles that were not nearly as confusing as they probably should have been. 

Laura had a point. Mischief was always his, and he was always Mischief’s. Just because the parameters changed, didn’t mean the statement did. 

“Dude, picture,” Stiles grinned, perfecting a ridiculous Blue Steel. 

Protesting was no juice - Mischief just had to get his way and Derek had always been helpless to deny him. Just like in the picture that had started this reunion. If it made Stiles happy, Derek would do it. No questions asked. 

Smiling for the camera would never not be awkward. His bunny teeth continued to look stupid. Laura was definitely going to make fun of him for those. 

_ That’s love, bitch.  _

“Come on,” Stiles was not going to let him get away with a glare or a grimace. “Der-Bear, let’s see that cute smile of yours.” 

Cute?

Was he really going to get hung up on a single world from Mischief, from Stiles? There were always so many words, and he was going to let his heart flutter over one stupid slip of the tongue. Didn’t he know that Stiles just said things sometimes? 

“No,” he pouted, his lower lip sticking out like he was still a kid. 

It was so childish, so unlike the him that most people knew. Stiles dragged out this side of him, kicking and screaming all the way, trying to make it through with his dignity relatively intact. Yeah, Stiles and dignity weren’t exactly a match made in heaven. 

“Fuck,” Stiles groaned. “That’s just… That’s just unfair, Derek.” 

When he turned to Stiles, trying to figure out what his best friend was talking about, Stiles was looking at his mouth, heartbeat already starting to race.

Wait, what? 

He leaned in without another thought, too caught up to consider the consequences of his actions. Usually he would only think in terrible repercussions. 

But this was Mischief! 

Seconds later, Stiles’ mouth was on his, chapped lips pressing against his own harshly. Calloused fingers scraped against his stubble, and somehow he’d been able to wrap his arms around Stiles. 

For a few seconds, he was perfectly happy. 

The click of the camera broke the spell, but not the kiss. Stiles was not willing to let them go. 

“What was that?” Derek managed to drag himself away. 

“It was a perfect moment,” Stiles argued, slightly out of breath. “I had to preserve that. Plus, you know your sister has been waiting for this. I think she ships us, dude.” 

Perfect. A perfect moment. 

He couldn’t even argue with that. 

“Perfect,” he agreed. 

He let Stiles send the picture to Laura - fully aware that his sister was going to mock him for it for the rest of their lives. She was going to tease him about the blush high on his cheeks, and about how ridiculously happy he looked to have Stiles kissing him. 

Derek figured she was owed that much, after lugging boxes of painful memories around just in case he needed it one day.

_ Damn right, bro. I’m a fucking delight and a treasure. If you see any hot single deputies in BH, just let me know.  _


End file.
